Root ambled about for six lengthy minutes, doing her best not to look comically out of place. Sure, her outfit helped her blend with the growing crowd, but her manners and reflexive scowl and general disposition were like tacky novelty buttons on a meticulous and commanding tuxedo.
At least she had Saly. He looked more out of place than her, and was just as bad at hiding it, but at least his fretting looked like a nervous reverence rather than a case of a charity invitation. Maybe if she told the other attendees she’d been given three months to live, they’d excuse her abrasiveness…
Brian, on the other hand, had no issues with the crowd. He made small talk with the other guests with ease, stringing together just the right words in the way he always did so that any unlucky ear that found itself on the receiving end could do nothing but nod along. It seemed to be like a code to most of the others in this societal caste, an acknowledgement that nothing much was being said but that it was being said in a way that generated them all quite a lot of money and status.
Root spotted Anjeanette as she entered the courtyard, dressed in a fine but simple blouse and slacks that made it clear she was meant to be there but only on the receiving end of questions and demands. She stopped by the catering hallway and adjusted her bronze name tag.
“Who will it be?” said Anjeanette’s voice in Root’s ear despite the crowd between them.
“Not sure yet,” said Root quietly. “Maybe the girl in the, what is that, turquoise? Flowy gown.”
“I’d call it seafoam,” interrupted Vit, unprompted and somewhere outside her field of view.
“She talked to Brian for a second. Ditzy as shit.”
“Her date?”
“Seems dumb too.”
“Anyone else?”
“Grab someone slow.”
“You said that girl—”
“Physically.”
“Old lady with a cane just walked up,” said Saly.
“Hobbled,” Vit chimed in.
“Perfect.”
“Three minutes,” said Anjeanette, and then started moving.
It was another excruciating wait. What were people supposed to do at these things? Unless the answer was fiddle with the hood of the raincoat on her chair, Root was out of guesses.
Fortunately, Anjeanette made good time. It was more like two and a half minutes.
“Um, could I interest you folks in a tour?” she asked, approaching Root and Saly from the side. Behind her was the seafoam girl, her date, and the old woman, who blinked like she couldn’t tell if Root was a cataract or a person. Even better.
“That would be marvelous,” said Root. She motioned to Saly. Saly tapped Brian on the shoulder, pulling his attention away from the other two well-dressed men he spoke to.
“Come, we’re taking a tour,” said Saly, sweating a bit much for someone faced with the prospect of educational walking-about.
“Pleasure meeting you both,” said Brian with a pair of handshakes. “Do keep me posted about that actionable outcome training seminar.”
Anjeanette led the six of them from the courtyard and into the Hall of Relics. Root noted Azriah’s post as she passed by but paid him no further attention. The girl in seafoam—whose name was Aria Dawdling, some sort of notable singer—clapped her hands at the sight of the display cases.
“How neat!” she said. “Look at all these cool old things!”
Anjeanette went into a brief spiel about the church’s trove of artifacts before steering the tour off through a side passage and up some stairs.
They took the stairs half at a time, matching the pace of Pertuda, the old woman. Aria’s date—Kester, who wore a silver blouse with seafoam accents to match their girlfriend’s dress—helped the woman manage each riser like a new and insurmountable challenge. Root wondered if they’d picked someone too good at slowing the group down. After all, they were on a timeline.
Anjeanette seemed to adjust for this on the fly as she cut out a few of their superfluous stops. Unfortunately, that also meant skipping straight to more stairs.
“Do you know how many stairs are in the palace?” asked Aria. “I bet you do!”
“Um, I don’t know the exact number, no…”
“Oh come on, take a guess!”
“Um…”
“Like do you think it’s more than… fifty… eight?”
Root looked back down the staircase they’d nearly reached the top of and came to an immediate conclusion. Perhaps she was just more perceptive.
“I’d estimate—” started Saly. Root elbowed him.
“Maybe you should count as we go,” she suggested.
“Okay. Yay!” Aria began her task. She did not, as it turned out, appear to be able to add numbers in her head.
While Kester guided Pertuda to the top of the last stair, Anjeanette fell back beside Root. She flipped open the hefty binder she carried and, from within, pulled the king’s brick. Root took it and stashed it in her clutch.
“This hall here is all administrative offices,” said Anjeanette as they continued. “Right around the corner here is one of the palace’s many interior terraces which look down onto the courtyard below. Let’s take a look…”
“Oo!” called Aria. “Another staircase!” She hastened ahead of the group, muttering figures.
Kester cleared their throat. “So most of the church people work here in this hall?”
“Oh, um, not most, just—”
“But that’s what you said. These are a minister… something offices.”
Anjeanette grasped for words. Brian jumped in before she found any.
“They’re for, you know, administering oversight and outlining clear priority roadmaps.”
Kester blinked. Anjeanette, Brian, Kester, and Pertuda slugged off at a snail’s pace, Pertuda’s cane clacking on the floor.
Though it was hard to fall behind such a pace, Root and Saly managed. With Aria focused on her counting task, Kester confused, and Pertuda half-blind anyway, no one questioned where the pair had gone.
“Ready?” said Root as they paused beside a door. Saly tested it—locked, of course.
“As ready as one can ever be when something like this comes knocking.”
“No one should be inside, but I wouldn’t knock anyway.”
“No, it’s—”
Root cut him off as she knelt down and tugged off one glove. She placed her palm to the keyhole and focused, calling forth smoke and shaping it in slight tugs; she’d practiced a few times, but if ever there was a poor time to make a lock explode, it was now.
There was a pop, and then a creak, but neither was the sound of the lock disengaging. The creak, in fact, seemed to make the door more stuck. Root muttered to herself and tried again, going as cautiously as she could. Her abilities had never been the sort that wanted a timid master, and she’d never been inclined to that temperament anyway.
Saly looked anxiously up and down the hall. Aside from the slowly shrinking backs of their tour mates, there was no one, but that could change at any moment. Root closed her eyes.
Whoa—wrong move. She swayed, sleepless vertigo crashing over her. She steadied herself against the door jamb and sent out another plume of smoke.
A groan, then a click. Root removed her hand as the keyhole belched a wisp of deep grey smoke. She tried the handle and the door opened a hair.
“Go,” she said, and waved Saly inside. He slipped through and closed the door.
Root slid her glove back on and stepped back. Loitering outside the door left her exposed, but someone needed to keep watch.
“My my—beautiful office,” said Saly through the whisper stones. “Really beautiful. And this desk…”
“You can tell us all about it later,” said Root. “The ledger—you find it?”
“Let me see…”
With the others around the corner and Root alone, she flipped open her clutch and hoisted the king up so he could see out and—hopefully—overhear a bit of the conversation passing through their connected stones. Without ears, he was left in the dark. Or rather, it was the clutch that did that; the lack of a stone kept him out of the loop.
“Our accountant is in position?” he asked. Root nodded. “Good. The other tourees?”
“I don’t think that’s a word. But none of them would know that.”
“Excellent.”
“Got it,” said Saly. “Now let’s see. Oh, this is exciting!”
Root rolled her eyes.
Minutes ticked by at the pace of hours. Having Vit’s bartending dialog and Anjeanette’s tour script in her ear was distracting, but it helped to know that everything progressed normally. No one ran about sounding the alarm; the evening was going just according to plan.
“How’s it going, Saly?” she asked when the silence started to weigh about as heavy as the brick she was holding near her ear.
“Making the adjustments,” he said.
“Just sprinkle in some zeroes and call it a day.”
Saly laughed. “Oh, yes, of course. Throw a couple digits around and voila!” He clicked his tongue. Root could almost feel him shaking his head. “This is precise work, you know. A ledger is a delicate thing. You think they wouldn’t notice during an audit that they’d suddenly spent, oh, twenty thousand radulas on new glassware instead of two thousand?”
“These people probably wipe their asses with half that on a daily basis, they’re not going to care.”
“They’ll care. It’s a matter of making several small, realistic adjustments, not one or two big ones. Perhaps they spent a bit more to have this event catered. Perhaps the increased guard detail ran them a little more…”
“All right, but hurry it up.”
Saly fell to occupied silence, and Root picked out Anjeanette’s voice instead. “… And another two stories up, that balcony there—um, that one looks out from the Grand Priest’s personal quarters. We can walk around this way next, but let’s take our time… Yes, Aria, um, I think there are more stairs… Seventy might be a better guess, yeah…”
Root drummed her fingers as she scanned the hallway to her left and right. She tried to keep one ear focused on any sounds that were actually around her rather than filtering in through the stone.
“Do you mind?” asked the king.
“Oh, sorry,” said Root and stopped tapping her fingers on her clutch.
“All right,” said Saly.
“You’re done?”
“With the primary ledger, yes. There’s one copy in here…”
“Saly.”
“It will go faster!” he said. “Now I’m just copying what I’ve already done. No decisions, just rewriting!”
Root slumped against the wall. Seconds passed, then a sound caught her attention.
Footsteps. She listened, focusing on the stone, then the space around her. Shit—the footsteps were on her end, approaching from a side hall accompanied by voices.
“Fuck,” Root whispered. “People are coming. Shit.”
She looked both ways down the hall, but it was long and there was nowhere to hide. She’d never clear a corner before the footsteps rounded the bend—and it’d leave Saly to fend for himself anyhow if he got caught. She swayed on her feet, stalled by panic and the fogginess in her mind.
“I…”
Suddenly, Anjeanette’s voice spoke in her ear. “Root—wall opposite the office, um, second window down from the corner. There’s a small alcove behind the curtains.”
Root didn’t waste any time. She dashed to the window and drew aside the magenta drapery. Sure enough, a narrow alcove ran floor-to-ceiling just behind it, dusty and looking like the vestigial remains of the pre-remodeled window framing.
She let the curtain fall back into place just as the voices behind her reached the main hall. “Saly, hide under the desk or something just in case,” she whispered. “I’ll tell you when it’s clear.”
“… Swear they said it went this way,” said one of the new voices.
“You go downstairs. I’ll loop this wing.” The pairs of footsteps parted. One passed Root’s spot. She held her breath.
When she could no longer hear the clunk of boots, Root peeled aside the curtain and peeked out. The hall was empty.
“They’re gone.”
Anjeanette blew a sigh of relief. “You found the spot?”
“Barely fit, but yes.”
“Phew. I hide there sometimes, too.”
“From?”
“Coworkers, usually. Um, sometimes tours. They usually find their own way back out.”
“These two sounded like guards. One’s headed your way. Maybe loop back now. Saly, you ready?”
“Give me three minutes.”
“Pertuda is going to take nearly that anyway,” said Anjeanette. “I ducked aside to talk to you. Brian is covering. Jumping back in, then see you soon.”
The minutes passed, and then when Root heard footsteps approaching again, they came with the echoing voice of Anjeanette in both ears.
“Saly…” said Root.
“One moment, one moment.”
Anjeanette and the tour rounded the bend, emerging from another passage. Root melded back into the group without a glance from the others. She shot Anjeanette and Brian each a look.
“Um…” started Anjeanette, adjusting her wide glasses. “And then we’re back here, at the—”
“Minister offices,” said Kester. It seemed Brian hadn’t been able to talk them through that point.
“Aaaaaaand. We can head back down the stairs here… now…”
Anjeanette turned the tour back toward the stairs, backs to the office door, moving at a pace even Pertuda must’ve found leisurely.
“Hey—excuse me!”
Root turned. A guard hustled down the hall toward them, likely the same one that had passed her by before.
Her throat constricted. Anjeanette looked like a frightened deer. Root turned aside, unable to worry about whether the others in the tour might overhear.
“Saly—do not come out. Guard.”
“Ooohhhh,” moaned the distant voice of Beel unhelpfully.
The guard reached them. “My apologies, but guests—” He stopped when he spotted Anjeanette. His confusion cleared, then narrowed back in again a second later. “Why are you leading tours through this wing?” he asked in a new tone. He had to mind how he spoke to their esteemed rich guests, of course, but an intern… His tiny guard brain had found someone he was allowed to berate, which was a necessity on par with breathing for an officer of any stripe.
“Um! I…” Anjeanette trembled like a leaf in the wind. Her eyes flicked to the hiding spot Root had used minutes prior. Root was just thankful she hadn’t glanced at the office door in her fright.
“This is Brian Sand,” said Root, jumping in and letting her tongue do the work that her foggy brain had called out sick for. “He’s a big fan of offices. Wanted to see them.”
The guard looked at Brian, then at Root.
“I hope that’s not a problem,” said Root. She bit off the word sir from tailing the words. Pacifying a guard as a member of the upper class required a different sort of tone.
“Of course not,” said the guard with furrowed brow. “Although I still have to request—”
In that moment, something brushed Root’s leg. She was used to something small clutching her calves in moments like this, as it was usually Beel’s role, but Beel wasn’t there, and this was no frightened grasp. A whirlwind tugged her dress as it sped by, a blur of pink, and zipped on past the guard and down the hall.
“Hey!” cried the guard. The pink thing stumbled, crashed into a corner, and then sped off down a side passage. The guard wasted no time in his pursuit.
“What was that?” asked Aria with wide eyes and startled fingers on her glossy lips.
“Um.” Anjeanette struggled to catch her breath. “Some sort of wildlife, I think. Maybe a possum.”
“Awww!” Aria craned to get a look at the critter, but it was long gone. “That’s so cute! Babe, we should adopt a possum!”
“Like from a banana?” asked Kester.
“And we could feed it banana!”
Pippa stood at the base of a very fun looking staircase. So tall! It would be so much fun to run up.
Time to do a good job, she thought. This is important! A big job. No messing up.
She ran through her checks again. Check, check—oof!—check! She tightened the straps of her tiny backpack, perfectly fitted to her small stature. It clinked with the sounds of her few belongings—the tools and things she’d been instructed to bring, but nothing she couldn’t afford to lose. It bulged awkwardly and poked her back, but she’d have to ignore that. It was time.
She started up the stairs inconspicuously. That was a word that meant slowly, she’d learned. But despite the slow pace, she couldn’t help but bounce on her feet. This was so exciting!
And serious. She had to—
She tripped on one stair and face-planted into the corner of another. Ouchie…
They were big stairs—big for her little legs. Built to human proportions, as so many things always were, even when spirits made them. How was that fair? Just because humans only came in one small range of sizes, that meant everything had to cater to them?
It took many minutes to climb that tall staircase at her slow pace. Slow, slow, slow. What was the point in ever going this slow? Inconspicuous? More like boring.
The closer she got to the top, the more guards flanked the stairs, and the more odd looks she got. A few asked if there was something they could help her with. She had instructions—sneak, sneak, ignore, ignore. And when she couldn’t sneak and ignore anymore…
At the top of the stairs, many more guards waited all around a huge set of open doors. So many! They watched her carefully. Definitely no sneaking now.
“Excuse me…”
She kept walking.
“Excuse me.”
She kept walking.
“It doesn’t talk, probably.”
“It’s got a backpack, though.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize words came from backpacks.”
“Shut up.”
“Stop right there,” said another guard, and reached for her.
Yippee! No more ignoring, now it was time… to run!
Pippa broke into a sprint. The world blurred all around, her pink legs pumping, bare feet going pittapittapittapitta across the bricks. Finally!
“H-e-yyy!” faded a voice.
Pippa slipped through the doors easily. Guards closed in, but Pippa was small, right around eye level with their kneecaps, so she ducked their swipes and pushed ahead before many of them could even react. Oh, she loved to run, loved to run! And she was so good at it, at least until—
She tripped and skidded several feet on her face and stomach. The guards behind her ran to catch up.
Up, up, up, she thought. She launched back to her feet and took off again.
Many more guards crowded the space just inside, standing around with tools and tables where they prodded some human’s bag. It all faded to a blur as she gained speed, ducked another grab, took a right, and zoomed off down a tall hallway. Voices cried out behind her. Yippee, more people to run with!
She turned a corner and her feet slipped on the polished floor. She hit the ground hard, knocking her poor noggin on the tiles. Owie, owie.
“Grab it!”
Up up up! Pippa was back on her feet and on the move again in no time.
Humans were so slow—every one of them, how silly! They couldn’t catch her. She was way, way faster than—
She collided with a wall and toppled backwards onto her butt. The guards closed in again.
Nope—not this time! She zipped away, putting much more distance between herself and the growing crowd fuming at her back. The gap widened—ten feet, twenty. No chance!
She tripped. Twenty feet, ten, five—back up, running again.
And this building—it was so big! She couldn’t wait to see what fun areas she could get chased through.
What an exciting evening this was going to—oof—be!